Bruises
by Mistyray00
Summary: The bruises on my wrists were the first thing he noticed. I was one of the maids for the wing where his study was located. It was very rare that I ever saw him, being it the household mistress always reminded us to clean quickly and make sure to be out before any of their majesties should decide to visit the room. But there were always mistakes.
1. Chapter 1

The bruises on my wrists were the first thing he noticed.

I was one of the maids for the wing where his study was located. It was very rare that I ever saw him, being it the household mistress always reminded us to clean quickly and make sure to be out before any of their majesties should decide to visit the room.

But there were always mistakes.

I was dusting an especially enchanting looking volume of books in the far corner of his study, debating if I would get caught if I decided to flip through the pages for a minute.

The thought hadn't long to simmer in my mind before the heavy door swung open, the hinges squealing to announce the arrival of non-other that High King Peter himself.

I immediately slid to the floor from my ladder, taking cover behind a half-bookcase that wasn't built into the wall. It didn't possess a backboard, so I could see through it.

When I finally settled my adrenaline, I peeped out from my covering to see if there was an exit I could take.

It didn't look likely.

He was sitting, pensively reading over a document, brow furrowed. His desk was positioned just so that I couldn't make my escape without being seen.

With no hope of getting away at the moment, I decided to satisfy my curiosity and watch just a little. I doubted I would get another chance. Upon the occasion we did make the mistake of being in their majesties presence, we were not to look them in the eye.

I recalled my training, "Curtsy low, and keep your eyes down. Don't speak. You're not to draw any attention to yourself."

I had never seen any of their majesties. I scooted my eyes up above a row of books.

The whisperings and giggles of the other maids that had seen him didn't go unheard by me. So I thought I knew what to expect.

I didn't.

They said he was handsome, and that he was. Tall, masculine frame. Golden, tousled hair. I wasn't close enough to see his eyes, but, supposedly, they were blue.

But that wasn't what surprised me.

When I looked up again, he sat this time with his head in his hands, fingers gripping just a smidge too tight on his scalp.

 _Restless._ That's the word for it.

I moved my foot from under me, as it had begun to fall asleep. But the bottom of my shoe caught in the grout of the marble tile just so, and it made a faint squeak.

I went dead-still. I heard a shifting of paper.

"Who's there?" came the voice of the High King. If I weren't so frightened, I might have lingered on the fact that the giggled gushings of the other maids about his voice being nice weren't entirely wrong.

I heard his chair shift back, and then footsteps. I quickly decided it would be better for me to reveal myself then for him to find me hiding. I didn't want any accusations or suspicions.

So as I gingerly but determinedly stood up and stepped out and forward, I found myself immediately in front of his majesty. Too close.

I stepped back and dropped into a curtsey, keeping my eyes down.

Swallowing my fear, I spoke up. "I apologize, your majesty. I was cleaning, and I hadn't any idea you were to return here. I'm terribly sorry."

I could feel his eyes boring into me, assessing.

"It's quite alright. You just gave me a bit of a fright, that's all." If the humor that laced his statement was anything to go by, I wasn't in trouble. I sighed in relief. I still kept my eyes down.

"Oh, and please rise. I've never curtsied myself, but it seems much more uncomfortable than bowing," he said with a small laugh. I let a hesitant smile take over my lips. The thought of him curtsying was certainly not dull.

As I came up, I spoke again. "May I get you anything, your majesty?"

He seemed to sink a little. "No, but thank you. You're free to continue your work in here or go wherever else you are needed."

I hesitated. I had heard that their majesties came from a different world, and that they were still learning the customs of ours.

Apparently, his majesty didn't know the scandal of being alone in a room with one of the opposite sex if you are unrelated or unmarried.

But cleaning his study was my favorite job, as I loved all the books, and the main library was never a task given to me. I desperately didn't want it to be cut short. Besides, I would have to join Betsy after this, and she annoyed me deeply.

And no one would expect a king with a maid. It wasn't as if I was a courtier lady or anyone of elevated rank that deserved to be guarded closely.

No one would know if I stayed to finish, right?

"Will I not disturb your majesty if I continue here?"

"No," he said, "I'll be just fine, but please, just for this afternoon, forsake calling me 'your majesty.' This is the one room I can be relieved of formalities."

I looked up. The smile that accompanied his request didn't reach his eyes.

Oh! I just looked him in the eye! I quickly turned my head back down.

I nodded. "What would it please you for me to call you, then?"

"Call me Peter," he said with a tired smile. "I am aware that it goes contradicts protocol, but just this afternoon, please." His eyes held a pleading that somehow demanded compliance more than a firm command would.

I nodded.

We both returned to our tasks. Before he reached his desk, he turned back around.

"And what might I call you?"

I blinked.

I heard myself answer with my name, but my mind was busy attempting to comprehend why on earth he would care.

At some point he smiled and went back to whatever needed his attention on his desk, and I went back to my work, too stunned even to admire the lovely books as I cleaned.

Mindlessly dusting for some time, I didn't take care to mind my feet for the second time that day.

Before I could catch myself, I fell a few steps down, knocking some books down as I tried to grab the shelf in my fall.

I could only imagine the racket that I was making. So much for not distracting him. This is why they didn't let me clean the main library.

"Are you alright?" he called.

I sat up from the floor, fixing my skirts to the best of my ability, annoyed with myself.

"Yes, I'm just clumsy. I apologize, your maje…," I closed my eyes, "Peter, I mean."

Calling him by his first name made me endlessly uncomfortable. Did he not know my rank? Or the implications of his request?

He offered his hand to me, and I hesitantly gave mine up out of politeness, knowing full well I could get myself up.

He was showing me too much attention for what I was. What's his game? What could he want with me?

A hand that dwarfed my own pulled me up.

Even though I was still avidly avoiding his eyes, I could feel him tense.

He turned my wrist around in his hand, and it suddenly washed over me. The bruises in the very obvious shape of fingers that had gripped forcibly.

 _Oh, no._

I quickly snatched my hand away, bringing it to my side, hiding it behind my apron.

He said my name softly. I closed my eyes, trying to mentally be anywhere else. If I weren't so terrified, I might have taken a moment to realize his caring to remember my name.

A thousand different scenarios of how he might react flashed across my closed eyelids.

Would he release me from working here? The rumors went that he was kind, but the head maid said other things. Did she say those things just to scare us into obedience, or were they legitimate warnings?

"Who did this to you?" His question came hoarse, soft and concerned.

I shook my head, starting to feel myself go into mental hibernation. I couldn't do this.

"Please open your eyes."

I swallowed and mustered up all the courage I could. Slowly, my eyelids complied.

"Who did this to you?" he repeated.

"I don't see why it matters."

"I don't' see why on earth it wouldn't. _, tell me."

I shook my head.

"Is it the household mistress? Does she treat you poorly? I swear she'll be gone by tomorrow if so."

"No." I swallowed. "No, she does not."

"Then who?"

I can see from my downturned eyes that his hands are fidgeting, knuckles white. He wants to do something.

But he can't.

I shake my head again. "Your highness, I… can't ask you to assist in my affairs. My rank is not..." I'm cut off.

"Peter. I'm just Peter in this room. Rank is fickle. And this is a matter of justice, not of stupid social status. I can bring whoever did this to you to the due punishment."

His stance shifts closer to me, breaking the barrier between "out of reach" and "within arm's length."

I call all my gumption to my side to utter the next phrase I said. When I look back on that day, I really don't know how I managed to say it. My eyes turned back upward to meet his.

"Perhaps rank is truly fickle. But power is not. Otherwise I could have brought him to justice myself. Power is very tangible, thus why I cannot inform you any further, lest any harm be inflicted upon you or your family in return."

He seemed greatly taken aback at my speech.

"Are you implying that whoever did this to you has the capacity to threaten myself and my siblings?"

My eyes fell back to their position of sweeping the floor with their vision.

"Because if you are I must no longer ask out of respect for your privacy and freedom of choice but rather demand out of concern for the entirely of Narnia an answer from you."

"I mean not that he is a menace to the monarchy. I simply mean he inflicts great damage on those who rise against him."

I would know.

His majesty eyed me in question and let out a breath that sounded somewhat like a laugh, but had no humor in it.

"Even I was worried about myself alone, you are aware of the fact I have an army behind me, yes?"

"He's slippery. He's in and out and has done his damage before anyone even knows of his presence."

"Our guards are top on the line, _. It will take a very skilled man indeed to evade them."

I shook my head and turned around, putting my back to him, forsaking all manners.

"_, I need you to…"

I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I immediately tensed and turned around, ready to defend myself. It was just second nature.

But I had miscalculated how close he was, and I had definitely not planned for him to be leaning down, so my forehead bumped right against his. The pain of the bump was never even a thought, as I felt a rush of emotions wash over me that I knew not to be my own.

Anger. Concern. Frustration. And… Hurt?

I knew immediately from the unfamiliar feel of them that these were not my own emotions, but rather his.

Then came the memories in flashes. What he ate for breakfast. A conversation with his brother. A discussion over the borders.

Memories from today.

His today, not mine.

Then a thought hit me. _Oh, no._

I looked to his bewildered face and I immediately knew the answer.

"_…"


	2. Chapter 2

The day was a quiet enough one.

The head cook, Mrs. Dolie, had taken a liking to me, and she would sometimes steal me away to run errands for her. Getting out and about was a rare specialty for us maids, so I always jumped at the opportunity.

That particular day, she needed some extra flour, yeast, and produce, so she sent me to the market. Normally, such baking necessities were delivered directly to the castle, but when last minute run-outs happened, trips to the market were in due.

I liked the market. Everything from bright, highly detailed rugs to fresh produce to handmade candles.

I walked through the shops for some time before starting on the task I was sent to do. I didn't normally procrastinate so, but the market was one of my very favorite places.

I selected a couple dozen carrots, some celery, and a burlap bag full of onions from one vendor, who was a dwarf, and then I bought measured out two pounds of flour and a small package of yeast from another vendor.

Everything went smoothly. The bargains were fair, and the castle's kitchen budgeted to support the local farmers with a pretty penny anyway. That's one of the things I really did appreciate with how their majesties ran things: they really did care. Or, at least, they were very good at acting.

With the purchases safely tucked into a leather satchel I slung across one shoulder, I started my journey back to Cair Paravel.

The wooded area between the market and Cair Paravel was somewhere everyone rather avoided at night, as it was the known gathering of those whose cup runneth over with energy and passion but also rather lacking in morals. None were very known to truly be threatening; just troublesome and pestering. Few of the dryads resided in the trees in this portion of the woods, so mischief could brew without eyes on them.

In the daytime, however, it was safe, as most of said troublemakers were still sleeping off a hangover.

But as it played out, my concerns laid in the wrong place.

I was very much lost in thought, enjoying the lushness of the green branches touching above me, when I heard a noise behind me.

I froze.

He made no attempt to conceal himself, he had no reason to.

I remembered him. No matter how much I tried to forget and shove the memories down, I couldn't.

A nine-year-old girl had once trusted this man. He had said he loved her. He had said she was valuable.

He had done things that screamed otherwise.

Placing filthy hands where they shouldn't have ever been, his words sickeningly soft. Then throwing brutal fists in direction where they had no hope of being deflected, his words harsh and pointed.

I'm not sure which I had dreaded more.

Then I stood, suppressed memories striking me all at once.

He walked towards me.

 _Run!_ I heard my mind shout, but my feet refused to comply.

All those times I told myself just what I would do if I ever saw him again. Maybe shout at him. Maybe give him a cold, harsh piece of my mind. Maybe just aloofly pretend I didn't even notice him. Like he never affected me at all.

I did none of those. I stood frozen in fear, my mind returning to the body of a terrified nine-year-old.

"You certainly have grown," was how he decided to start the interaction.

I said nothing, my mind too busy to spit out a sentence.

He moved closer to me.

"Have you nothing to say to me?"

I remained silent.

"Pity. You always had such a quick wit," he traced his hand up to my waist, "And you were a very fast learner."

Resisting the urge to vomit, I finally took a solid step back.

His smile slipped a little.

"You don't want to cause any trouble now. Let's just go behind there. There's no one around anyway."

"No." I spoke, taking another step back. Before I could wait for a response, I felt my courage rise, and I turned quickly to run.

He had predicted my movement, and he caught my arm, twisting me back toward him painfully.

I yelled for help, knowing where this was going. My thoughts shifted to the dryads, but then I remembered how few lived in these parts.

I struggled against him, kicking and scrambling in every which direction.

Although perhaps shocked, as I never had the gumption to resist as a child, he wasn't unprepared for resistance.

He shifted his iron grip to my wrist, fingers digging into my skin.

My concentration shifted to my wrist, I was unprepared for a sweep of one of his legs knocking my feet out from underneath me, sending me falling to the ground. His figure over me, knees trapping my legs to the ground, hands gripping my wrists, I had lost any leverage I had.

From then, my mind decided to go numb.

I knew exactly what happened from there.

In the High King's study, I stood, eyes wide, hoping with every fiber of my being that he hadn't seen that memory.

His eyes greyer and wet around the edges, my hope was looking less and less likely to be fulfilled.

"I'm… trying to make sense of what I just saw." He finally broke a moment of electric silence.

"What all did you see?" I asked, not fully wanting to know the answer.

He hesitated.

"I saw his face. I saw what he did to you." His voice was low, dangerous. "He will pay for what he did, _. I'll see to it personally. I swear it."

At this point, I was doing everything in my power to hold back tears. So I chanted that menace of a man's name in my head, over and over. It always stopped the tears. It made me feel nothing. Numb, my preferred state of being.

Peter softened his voice as he spoke to me again. "I didn't just see, though. I felt… I have difficulty explaining it. It was as if I were there myself. Like I saw it through your eyes."

I nodded.

I can imagine he had questions, but I was so thankful he chose not to ask them now.

When I finally looked up to him, he seemed an odd combination of feelings all in one. Restless in wanting to take action, but still somewhat defeated.

It hadn't been what I expected. I expected the same thing from the two people I had been brave enough to tell when I was smaller.

Things along the lines of "Well, you should have…" and "You can't tell any man what happened to you. You're damaged goods, and they won't want you."

I expected shaming. I expected chastisement. I was immune to both by now, but it still didn't make them pleasant.

I certainly didn't expect an embrace.

I tensed, instantly, not knowing what to do. Not knowing what he meant with it.

Then came his words, "_, I'm so, _so_ sorry."

I lost it at that. My tears falling freely, but still silently. I leant into his arms, a little.

There was one person I told when I was little that explained how anyone touching me from then on will frighten me, but I just had to hide it and push through it.

That had been true in some circumstances, and human touch had been very frightening to me for some time. But I had avoided it to the extent where I had started to be starved for it.

So although I wasn't entirely trusting of the embrace, I needed it, badly.

So I let my arms embrace him in return, my silent rebellious tears falling on him.

It's funny. The things that remove propriety, leaving just humans, beautiful and horrible in their brokenness.

And so I stayed for quite some time, reveling in the release of knowing another human simply sees you.


	3. Chapter 3

I came to learn that King Peter doesn't have a great deal of patience when it comes to justice being carried out.

It was the next day that he ordered a warrant out for him.

Life went back to the way it was the rest of the day, and I was thankful for the dull redundancy of cleaning to set my mind at ease.

Well, at least I hoped it would ease it.

Naturally, it didn't.

My thoughts danced a mocking waltz across my mind, refusing to leave me in peace.

King Peter hadn't asked any more questions about what happened between us, as it wasn't long after that his brother, King Edmund, had come to King Peter for his opinion on something.

King Edmund seemed rather shocked at my presence, especially that he found us in an embrace.

King Peter had looked to me with a question in his eyes, which had read something along the lines of "Can I tell him?"

I nodded.

His brother seemed a very pensive man. He took the information in, sitting quietly and flinching as he learned the true nature of the issue at hand. His eyes held apology. He too assured me something would be done about it promptly.

As I dusted a hall table in a north corridor, my thoughts swam back to the memory exchange that had happened between myself and High King Peter.

I knew from experience that strange things occurred when my forehead touched another person's. It had never happened as a memory exchange, though, only an emotional one. As a younger girl, barely a teenager, being held down by that man, it had happened only twice.

Both times, he recoiled, disgusted with me and confused. He must have felt the same emotions I felt toward him. Of course he was repulsed. Terrified.

He must've not liked being afraid. Especially of what he was used to having absolute authority over.

That was the first time my skin knew his fists.

But that wasn't the worst part of that memory. Oh, no, the scars of the mind don't stich nearly as easily as those of the skin.

I felt what he felt.

The rush of power. The corrupted lust. The desolate desperation of being absolutely consumed with one's self.

It made me feel filthier than his rancid breath on my face. His dirty hands on my thighs. The shameful names he called me.

The second time it happened, he was less dazzled and far more prepared to act.

Despite my purpled face that stung for weeks, it was ultimately his loss.

Bruises on thighs and wrists are easily covered with cloth. Eye sockets and cheek bones sounded a silent, insistent SOS.

Someone saw.

"You, lass," called a steely yet feminine voice. I lifted my eyes from the clothes I currently was scrubbing against a rock in the river. "Aslan's mane! Who did this to you, girl?"

I shook my head.

Her long, sinewy body shifted. A single tap of her foot.

"No mind, then." She stooped slightly, attempting to catch my line of sight. "You can be gone from whoever it is. I can assure your safety if you come with me."

I tensed. I knew there were worse humans to be shackled to than that man.

"I have no ill intent," she spoke, blunt and clear. "I have been put overseeing the acquiring of maids for… a rather large household. I can see you at minimum can do washing."

My cast-down eyes studied the back of my soap-dried hands.

I mulled over her words. A beat of silence.

"This household is of great security. You'd have shared quarters, small, but out of the reach of whatever monster has so _delicately_ colored your features."

I looked up at her, interest piqued, but remained silent.

She waited for another heartbeat.

"Come on now, lass. I have two more positions to fill. I haven't all day. What's it to be?"

I answered, hoarsely. "I'll come."

"You'll work," she corrected. "I'm not in the business of taking in strays. You'll work, earning your food, roof, and fair compensation. Understood?"

I nodded. I was comforted by knowing what was in it for her. I found that people's selfish natures tended to be more reliable than their good intentions.

So we traveled to this "rather larger household."

Imagine my surprise when we started approaching the outer wall of Cair Paravel itself.

I wanted to capture her attention to inquire about it as she walked ahead of me, but I noticed I didn't know the appropriate title for her.

"I don't know what to call you," I said, voice shakier than I cared for.

"Mistress will suffice. You will be trained in all courtesies necessary, titles included, although you won't be seeing their majesties hardly at all, if ever."

So I was to be working in the palace. I cared not. All I cared was that she was right: that man wouldn't be able to touch me here.

I had expected that King Peter would want to ask questions about what happened when our foreheads touched at some point.

What I didn't expect was the way he went about it.

I expected to be summoned by a higher servant. Not to be searched after by him personally. By name.

"Pardon, do you know where _ is?" I heard him asking Glory as she hot pressed a curtain. The halls really echo something awful. I heard her timid, giggling reply, directing him towards me.

Oh, bother. I could only imagine all the annoying questions and looks to be thrust my way this evening. The High King calling for me by name. Fancy that.

A fawn accompanied him, who I believed might be Mr. Tumnus. Word of who's who travels quickly among the maids.

The way he took me in when he saw me made me feel antsy. It wasn't crude, his eyes were on my face. It's just.. I was used to people looking over me. Not at me.

"_, this is Mr. Tumnus. Tumnus, _."

Tumnus nodded his head in greeting, and I curtsied.

"Tumnus has joined us for the sake of propriety," King Peter explained. I detected a hint of agitation in his voice. Having someone accompany him mustn't have been his idea.

"Truly, just for the appearance of it," Tumnus elaborated, ears fluttering. "I understand this is a matter to be discussed with discretion. I will wait out the doors of whatever room you choose. I don't wish to be an intrusion."

I decided I liked Tumnus.

We chose the nearest solar, which Tumnus patiently waited outside of. The entryway was slightly concealed by an arch from the main hall, making it less apparent that he wasn't in the room with us.

"How are you? Your wrists… any other injuries?" he opened his mouth slightly, then closed it, looking away from me briefly. "Forgive me… I'm trying to find the correct words."

I blinked, taken aback. I hadn't expected him to ask after my well-being. It shouldn't surprise me. I felt his concern earlier. Still.

"The bruises don't bother me. I'm well acquainted to them." I cringed as soon as the words left my mouth. I had meant to ease his concern, not elaborate on the past.

His eyes widened, hands in fists again. "I sensed your recognition of him in the memory, and he obviously knew you, but I… heavens, _, how long has this been happening?"

I swallowed, then whispered my answer. "From the time I was nine years."

He gripped the back of the settee with both hands, jaw clenched. He closed his eyes, head bowing.

Silence.

"Alsan's mane," he finally exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Facing me again, he seethed, "He will die for it. I won't allow it being resolved any other way."

I believed him.

"So be it." I assured, looking him dead in the eye, tone even.

He nodded once.

"His warrant is out. If I haven't word back by evening, I will personally attend the search."

"You needn't…"

His facial expression stopped me. "Yes, I really do."

We both stood, quiet, for a moment before he gestured to one of the upholstered chairs.

"Please, sit."

I did, and he followed on the settee across from the chair.

I could tell his mind was busy.

"_, I don't desire to press, but I am immensely curious as to what exactly happened earlier."

I nodded. I let out a long breath. "I don't know much about it, Your Highness…"

"Peter," he corrected, simply.

I looked away from him. That didn't make me any less uneasy.

"It happens when my forehead touches another's. It's only happened twice before today, but today was the first that it was an exchange of memories and emotions. Prior, it had only been emotions."

He leant forward, resting his forearms on his knees, brow quizzical.

"Do you know when it started?"

"The first time I remember I was eleven years."

"And it happened with…?"

I nodded, somber.

He inhaled.

"Do you know where he currently resides?"

I shook my head, eyes sweeping the floor. "He has no set home, traveling a great deal."

"Do you think it possible he left the Narnian borders?"

I thought for a second. "No, not likely."

Taking the information in, he leaned back into the settee.

I looked out the window. The sun was setting.

We both turned at the knock on the door.

"Come in," King Peter summoned.

Tumnus gingerly clopped in. "Your Majesty, dinner time is drawing near."

King Peter looked to the window and sighed. "So it is." He turned back to Tumnus. "But we have no guests this evening, yes?"

Tumnus hesitated. "Correct, but your gentle sister might have a speech if you aren't prompt."

A smirk eased over King Peter's face. "Yes, she certainly would."

"I will update you in the morning, _, on the status of the search," he said, rising. "Tumnus, could you please give a message to the head mistress that _ can have the rest of the week off from her duties."

"Oh, please, it's alright," I quickly amended. "If it pleases Your Highness, I'd rather continue to work."

He studied me for a moment. "It's Peter, and are you certain?"

I glanced to Tumnus, seeing if he caught the King's request to address him informally. His slightly confused expression confirmed he did. I hoped he wasn't a gossip.

"It keeps my mind settled," I explained.

"Very well. Good evening, _, I will see you in the morning."

"Good evening Your…"

He glanced at me, expectant.

I cleared my throat. "Good evening to you as well."

He shook his head, a playful side smile over his lips. "I'll win eventually."

Tumnus and King Peter left after I vacated the room. These were protocols for a lady, not a servant. It made me anxious.

The servants' supper table fell quiet as I walked in. Three of the maids, two human and one fawn, all started whispering to each other.

I sighed. So it began.

I decided to eat my supper in the kitchen itself to avoid all the stares or questions. Plus, I knew Mrs. Dolie would be in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the dessert for the main hall. I knew from her telling that she liked having that time to herself, but I really didn't know where else to go to eat.

I tried to enter softly, but ended up knocking over a copper bowl with my elbow. This is why they also didn't let me serve food in the main hall.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to disturb you…" I started, picking up the content of the bowl.

"Pish -tosh. Yes, you do," she called over her apron string clad shoulder, voice jovial.

I smiled lightly. She wasn't wrong.

"How was your day, love?" she inquired, still not turning around.

I was about to respond when she finished her question with "Or should I call you 'precious one who's called on personally by the High King.'

I rolled my eyes. "Not you too!"

She laughed, a full, robust one.

I couldn't stay annoyed long. Her laugh was contagious.

A brief chuckle escaped my own lips.

What an interesting day it had turned out to be.


	4. Chapter 4

Later that evening I sat on a mattress in Mrs. Dolie's quarters. She offered for me to stay with her until all the chatter died down. They were small, but cozy. And she didn't have to share her room.

She saved me from my shared quarters with would surely be filled with curious condescension.

"Later this week at most, dear," she assured, blowing out the candle. "The gossips always find newer, more scandalous matters to feed on."

Unfortunately, the feeding had only begun.

 _I was back. There in the small wooden room where that man first touched me._

 _Looking down, my body was my own, but much smaller. Younger._

 _I knew what happened next._

 _A hand inched up my leg. I braced myself, waiting for it to be over._

 _"Remove your hand from her." The low voice wasn't loud; it didn't have to be. Pure, frigid menace made its intent very clear in tone. "Now." I knew that voice._

My head knocked against the small wooden chest on Mrs. Dolie's floor with the force at which I startled awake.

The dream never ended that way.

"Are you alright dearie?" came the groggy, concerned words from Mrs. Dolie.

Stuffing the pillow under my neck and curling my arms around myself, I assured her, "Fine."

Five deep breaths later, my vision turned to black again.

 _Cool blue and white fur adorned a tall, tall woman. She wasn't gentle; her very being radiated otherwise._

 _Jadis. I didn't know where the name came from, but I suddenly knew it was her although I never had seen her myself. So this was the evil that had once held my home in tyranny._

 _A dark haired young man appeared on the scene._

 _I barely registered him as King Edmund before the witch drove her sword through him._

 _Sorrow ripped through my chest. At least ten different memories flashed across my mind. Memories of telling him off. Of patching a sore on his knee as he reluctantly accepted the help. Of playing with him as a baby._

 _More memories that didn't belong to me._

 _Anguished screams brought my attention to two young ladies. Susan and Lucy. I hadn't met them, but I instantly knew them. Felt deep love them._

 _The witch turned. Dread settled in my bones._

 _She took a single step toward the queens, and King Peter charged toward her swinging his sword to clash with hers. She had two swords, though._

 _I felt that awful dread again. I somehow knew how this ended._

 _Not even thinking to my lack of a weapon, I ran toward Jadis' back. She didn't seem to be aware of me. I swept low, diving for her feet, knocking her off balance. King Peter took the opening, and with one swing, he sliced at one of her arms, severing it._

 _An anguished yell from Jadis and another swing from Peter, and she fell, defeated._

I bolted awake.

 _What on earth._

I knew at that point that sleep wasn't going to find me again, so I gently slid on the loosest overdress I had and my leather shoes before tiptoeing out of Mrs. Dolies's quarters.

One of the turrets near the wing that housed the staff quarters was guarded by a centaur named Adonis.

I liked him. Mostly because he let me sit up there from time to time when I just needed time to think.

I didn't get to often, as the guards changed stations on different nights, and I didn't want to test my luck with another guard. He told me which nights were his to guard the turret so I knew when I could come.

Luckily, tonight was one I knew he was up there.

As I climbed the winding stairs up, I tightened my overdress to appropriate modesty, trying not to trip over it while doing so.

Adonis smiled when he saw me, but he didn't break his stance. Eyes still scanning the horizon, he addressed me. "Be sleep a rare commodity for you, lass?"

A felt a light smile coming on. "For tonight, I trade it for time for pensiveness."

"Then perhaps my tale of Axiel's first attempt at sparring should be saved for another night."

Adonis often spoke of his family, especially his son. He was young, just now of age to begin learning basic combat.

"No, please, do tell. I really just want to clear my mind. Some humor would do me well."

I listened for hours until the sun started to rise, setting the ocean ablaze in reflected light.

"The guard change is soon, lass. You best return to your chambers."

I nodded. "Please greet your wife and Axiel for me."

He nodded, eyes still scanning the horizon. Never not scanning.

"A pleasant day to you," he bid me farewell.

I resisted the urge to scoff. I smiled instead. _Pleasant. Heh._

At the staff breakfast table a few hours later, as I scooped a spoonful of oats into my mouth, an owl fluttered in.

The morning chatter fell silent.

"Miss _ , your presence has been requested in the main library."

I resisted the urge to hit my head against the table. Apparently, King Peter did not possess the art of subtlety.

 _Honestly!_ He could have just sent someone to the head mistress and she could pass the message on to me privately.

Or he simply wasn't concerned with concealing our meetings. Probably had no clue of the social repercussions for me.

I slowly stood up, careful not to trip over the bench, dusted off my skirt, and followed the owl out of the room.

I could feel every set of eyes boring into my back as I left. I wanted to crawl into a hole. _Aslan, take me now._

The owl didn't say much on the long walk (and flight) from the staff dining area to the main library. He did, however, introduce himself as Haldon.

As one of guards opened a door to the library for us, my breath hitched. All those books!

"His Majesty High King Peter will be with you briefly," Haldon's steady, lower voice rang out among the towers of books.

I remembered my manners and curtsied my farewell to him before turning back to the books, running my hand over a section. I had just picked one out and began reading the intro when the doors opened.

The book clamped together in my hands with a thud. I scrambled to put it back on the shelf before King Peter saw me.

I was still trying to shove it back into place when he saw me.

I stopped my struggle, holding the book across my chest in defeat. It was moot at this point anyway.

I laughed and brushed a fly away hair behind my ear. What else can you do when you're caught red-handed?

"Forgive me, your majesty," I chuckled out, trying desperately to gain some tone that said I was actually sorry.

His eyes sparkled with a smile. Slightly sunken eyes. Sleep deprived eyes.

"It's quite alright," he assured. "You're welcome to borrow any as you please."

My heart skipped a beat. Endless reading? Yes, please.

But if anyone saw the book in my things, they'd assume I stole it, and I'd have to explain permission from the High King, and that would create another field day. I'd just have to ensure it stayed hidden.

"Thank you," I said, meeting his eyes.

His brow creased as he read the title to the book I held.

"I've read that one. I remember it being rather dull."

I laughed again.

"No battles, knights, passionate love, survival stories, magic, or really anything exciting. I think it's a man's thoughts on taxation, if I remember correctly. Although informative, not quite my taste for leisure reading."

"And knights and passionate love would be?" I asked, eyebrow raised, before I could stop myself. I seemed to be in a contest to see how many laws of protocol I could break in one morning.

"Perhaps," A gentle smile and eyes that matched marked his open expression.

I looked away. I didn't like the feeling that washed over me.

" _I had a dream last night and I… was hoping you could enlighten me on something."

I nodded. "I have a similar question for you, if it pleases you to answer."

"Of course." He paused, leaning a shoulder against one of the shelves, pinching the top of his nose, resting his face on that hand.

"I first dreamed… you were there, so was that… demon," he trailed off.

I looked down, summoning numbness to wash over me. He dreamed of him too, then.

"But the quality of dream felt… strange. Held a certain quality to it. I…"

I shot my eyes to his face in question. His own eyes were looking to the side in concentration, studying a bookshelf he must've been looking to help him gather his thoughts.

"I dare say I felt an element of magic. Despite the… happenings of the dream. Both of them."

He looked to my face. My chest felt warm. _What happenings? Surely he …_

"Forgive me, _. The dreams go beyond my words' adequate description. Something I can voice is that your presence was extremely tangible in both."

I silently digested his words for a moment.

"As was your presence in my dreams," I spoke, my voice small, but my eyes trained on his.

Something sparked across his features, suddenly making him seem more awake.

"What did you dream of?" he questioned, eager.

"First, a reoccurring memory dream," I hesitated. Then didn't. "Except you were there. You told him to remove his hands from me."

"I had the same dream."

"And I dreamt of Jadis…"

He looked away. I tried to ignore the shadow that fell over his face. "Me as well."

A silent beat. Two.

I watched the question form on his face before he opened his mouth. "Might this have something to do with your…"

"I think it might, yes."

"But this... dream sharing never happened before?"

"No." I shook my head. "I think…"

I was silenced by one of doors opening to reveal Haldon. He landed on the floor and dipped his wing in front of him in a bow. "Your majesty, General Orieus wishes to have an immediate audience with you, if it pleases you."

Peter nodded for them to come in.

Orieus entered in full armour, standing tall, but with tired circles under his eyes.

"Your highness, I come with news of the search party."


	5. Chapter 5

I flopped my rag unnecessarily heavily into the bucket, making a splashing sound. The noise gave relief, if only briefly from hearing Betsy's annoyingly high-pitched voice.

"Haven't you heard the fuss about Lady Cassandra? I've been told she and Lord Marcus were found…"

I tried to tune her out. I scanned my mind for something louder than she was.

The Grand Hall when a ball was being hosted? No, too chaotic.

A torrential rain? Nice, but not quite enough to drown her out.

A recent happy memory? Mrs. Dolie? No, that just reminded me of the relentless whispers that now blanketed me everywhere I went.

Then blonde hair and a kind smile flashed across my memory.

He… was too kind. And I knew enough about human nature to know that kindness rarely came without intent. What he wanted from me, however, completely evaded me. And that scared me even more. And even deeper, it scared me that I wanted his kindness.

I snapped the thought shut, fully focusing on Betsy's now more tolerable monologue. _Anything_ was better than _that_.

Then I thought about _that_ man. I felt my body flinch as my hands kept scrubbing the marble floor. I felt the shame rise up in my cheeks, but something else did too. Something redder, something more insistent. My stomach churned.

The headmistress, often in our meetings or just in passing, uttered little sayings. "Anger doesn't solve anything," was a frequent one, especially when she was settling a disagreement between two staff members. I rolled her words over in my mind now.

Maybe it doesn't solve anything, but there was something about people getting what was coming to them.

I recalled Orieus' report from the morning.

"Your Highness, what we believe is the man's trail, along with some witness accounts, lead us to believe he fled to Ettinsmoor. He must have learned of his warrant rather quickly."

King Peter nodded, jaw stern. "Let us hope if the cold doesn't get him, the giants will."

I knew from the gossip I actually cared to listen to that any alliances with Ettinsmoor were shakey at very best. Sending any search party there would certainly be a waste of good men.

Peter turned to me, solemn, but sincere. "I'm sorry this hasn't ended in more absolution. He has more than likely written his own doom by his choice of refuge, however."

Once Orieus and the other officers returned to other duties, and I attempted to return to mine, quietly shifting out of the doors with the others.

A voice froze me before I could get too far.

"Lady _ , could you remain behind please?"

 _What could he need to meet on now?_ I closed my eyes and turned around, remembering my manners to drop into a curtsey. "As your majesty pleases."

One of the soldiers accompanying Orieus shot me a curious look. I could feel my cheeks go red. And my blood even redder.

After the last clops grew faint in the hall, I turned to face the High King, eyes on his.

"Sire, I mean no offense, but if it pleases you, if our meetings weren't of a private nature and also publicly known, it would profit my nerves greatly." I tried not to huff, thinking of the looks and questions that surely awaited me after this one.

His face switched from surprise to confusion in a split second.

"Forgive me, my lady, I don't quite follow."

"Gossip and maids go like toast and butter. The private manner of our meetings being well known among the servants has called eyebrows to raise. I am apt to handle it, but I would prefer to not need to tolerate it, if possible."

"Oh." He turned his head to the side slightly, and the High King blushed. He _blushed_. Fancy that. My eyes lingered on the wall out of decency.

"Please don't take my meaning as lack of appreciation. I'm forever indebted for the care and action you've given to my circumstance…"

"No, please," he interrupted "I take your meaning." Then he was quiet for a short moment, licking his lips to bat down the corner of his mouth that seemed to want to… smile?

"I apologize for the trouble it's caused you. Truly. I will certainly mind my manners better in our future meetings, Madame."

A hot flush rushed along my collar bone as I realized what I had just done. Had I all but _scolded_ the High King? And future meetings? What on earth could he need me for now that our only tie of conversation was now absolved? More about my ability? I had no true answers for that.

"I'm afraid the damage is already done on this occasion however." He didn't hide his smile now, eyes soft. "I wanted to ensure you found a book of your liking before you left."

I felt _really_ bad now. I briefly rushed a few apologies past my mind, all sounding ill-fitting and awkward.

I closed my eyes, forcing my embarrassment at myself down.

"Thank you, King Peter," I managed when I opened my eyes again.

"Well, I'm at least glad we've progressed from 'your highness' and such. The next achievement would be to just get you to drop the 'king' part." His smile was earnest, if not a little mischievous. Was he…taunting me?

Before I could think about it, I quipped back, "Pitty. I was hoping you'd deem me 'Maid _ of the western wing' to match the formality."

He looked stunned for a small moment before bursting into a short laugh that seemed to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes in the way they lit up.

"Your wit is not to be trifled with," he chuckled out, eyes still sparkling with mischief. "Aslan only knows who'd come out alive if you and Ed were to battle with it."

I smiled, slightly smug with myself.

"For now, though, please take a browse through the shelves. I have a meeting I'm due at promptly, so I'll leave you to it."

My gaze swept the room full of pages and covers, eyes dreamy. "Thank you, King Peter."

"My honest pleasure." Without looking back to him, I knew he was looking at me.

I turned back, curtsied, and although King Peter seemed disappointed I had felt the need, said his farewell and left the room.

I spent what felt like hours lazily browsing books, running my fingers over the binding, flipping through pages, until I found one that suited my fancy. Knights, magic, and passionate love included. I smiled to myself, remembering who might also find this particular read alluring.

Then shook myself mentally.

I was better than this. I was.

I stayed with Mrs. Dolie the remnant of the week, as a summon of the High King in front of everyone attending staff breakfast meant relentless torment and teasing for me.

It didn't, however, keep the glares from coming during the day.

The nights were peaceful, though.

Except when it happened again. The dreams.

 _I startled awake in a bed that certainly wasn't my own. I only briefly took in the quilts woven of scratchy fabrics I didn't recognize before I felt the distinct sensation of someone else at my back...in the same bed._

 _I quickly flipped on my side, only to find King Peter of all people, with a similarly confused expression._

 _Suddenly, the room filled with sound, calling both of our attention to it. A loud buzzing I couldn't put my finger on seemed to rattle the ground that I was quickly jumping to my feet on. Across the room, a dark- haired young boy sprung to his feet as well, his face obscured by the shadow of the room. King Peter's voice called to him from behind me, "Ed! Get Sue and Lucy. I'll find mum."_

 _I only was allowed to wonder momentarily why King Peter looked himself but King Edmund was a child when a screeching whistle pierced my ears and the sky out the room's window exploded with light._

 _The wooden room quaked at the impact, and I screamed, covering my ears as my knees buckled under me. But at once sure hands were under my arms, pulling me up to my feet._

" _We have to get down to the safe! Stay with me!"_

 _His fingers intertwined with mine, gripping my hand as he lead me out of the room and down the stairs. There a woman rushed out of a room in what had to be her sleeping gown, eyes wide and urgent._

 _King Peter reached for her, and she took his other hand. "Where's Edmund? And the girls?"_

" _Already out. We need to go!"_

 _We broke into a run, the woman and I ahead, only making it to the door as another bone-chilling whistle whipped through the air. The house shook again, this time wood cracked as the ceiling started to cave, one beam that would fall straight for the man at my back when it broke._

" _Peter!" I yelled, trying to alert him, but he looked to me instead of up where he needed to._

 _Another crack above, and I knew the beam had to have broken loose._

 _I didn't give another moment's thought before diving at him, shoving us both against the wall, away from the falling roof._

 _Slamming hard into his chest, I gripped hard into the fabric at my fingers as several seconds of crashing and crumbling commenced, keeping my eyes tightly shut._

 _Then, something shifted, and I suddenly became aware that this was, in fact, a dream. But that didn't stop the sensation of warm fingers at my cheek, brushing a stray hair back._

 _My eyes shot up to his, confused, searching for answers._

 _His smile was soft, just like I remember it being in the library, and I wanted simultaneously to close my eyes and never see it again and do whatever it took to make it stay._

 _Instead, I did neither. I just stared, wide-eyed and terrified of goodness._

 _Smart fish knew better than to take bait when it's attached to a string. Smart women knew better than to take kindness when it's attached to a string._

 _But I couldn't see the string. And that made it somehow all the more ominous._

" _You called me Peter," he said, voice low and tender._

 _I felt like I was falling the wind in my lungs left me so quickly._

And I awoke in my real bed, gasping for air that I had all along.


	6. Chapter 6

On top of the turret, the horizon around Cair Paravel was wisped with fog, making Adonis more vigilant than usual due to the lack of visibility. It also made him less talkative, which was just fine by me: I had quite the dream to contemplate.

However, as I settled into a nook in the wall, Adonis' quiet words interrupted my mind's trail.

"You're welcome, as always. But I caution you, lass. The High King has recently taken to walking the perimeter of the battlements and occasionally the towers in the night. The guard has doubled to ensure his safety, so take special care not to make your presence known. Any movement will be deemed a threat and dealt with accordingly, and I'm not confident I could explain the harmlessness of the situation before you are injured."

I nodded, uttering back in hushed tone, "I'll be careful," meaning it with every fiber of my being.

The last thing I needed was to cause even more of a scene and the following wagging of tongues around here. Or to see him.

My mind cranked the dream over and over in my mind, each time instead of making it settle only making it more disturbing.

I can still feel the phantom fingers of the High King on my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear. I feel it as surely as I feel the chill of the night air and the roughness of the tower stone behind my back. But it never happened.

And that's a good thing.

It is.

"Lass," Adonis' voice hisses out, and his tone instantly tenses my shoulders. He never turns to me, standing tall and facing the sea, but quickly finishes, "He's walking the corresponding battlements. Keep yourself very still and silent, wait until he passes this tower, then best be you return to your quarters."

I stilled myself, willing myself not to breathe too heavily even as my heart thumped loudly.

I heard the muttered greetings of the guard to their king as he passed and the returned acknowledgement. It kept getting closer. He'd soon pass my tower.

My lungs froze as I waited to hear the greetings of the guards on the other side.

Instead, I hear the door to the tower entrance at the battlement level creaking open and footsteps climbing closer.

I quickly swing around the turret, curling myself into a currently closed arrow slit window, bunching my nightdress and coat around me, resorting to the age-old useless tactic of closing my eyes in hopes that somehow helps myself be less visible.

"Good evening, your Majesty," Adonis' deep voice echoes across the cold walls.

And then, _his_ voice.

"Good evening to you as well. Might I share your tower in silence? I'd like to obtain some semblance of mental peace in hopes of better sleep."

Adonis fell silent for a moment, his concern for his harbored fugitive being found no doubt in mind.

"Of course, your Majesty," he responded, because what else can you say to the High King? "Might I suggest that it is I who shares your tower, not the inverse."

The king gives a short laugh. I dare to open my eyes, watching as he rests his forearms on the edge of the tower, leaning to assess the view. "I suppose so."

I exhale in relief, too loudly, apparently.

In one moment, the king's hand goes to the sword at his side and Adonis' hand goes out, helplessly trying to explain with a start of, "Your Highness, please…"

There are two men of action here. Two that have known battle and whose ears have been tuned to pick up on the smallest of sounds and respond accordingly. I should have known better.

The darkness must still conceal me, because neither man relinquishes their stance of wariness.

Unsure of what trained action will be kickstarted by any movement of mine, I resort to my voice, the damned thing coming out wobbly as I whisper what I know will disarm him, "Peter…"

He instantly lowers his sword, saying my name back in question and confusion.

I step down out of my perch in the window and into the light of the lit torch and what little moonlight made it through the fog.

At all this racket, the guards at the neighboring stations have been alerted and the sound of armored hooves and feet drew nearer.

"Stand down!" the king's voice carries across the walls of Cair Paravel. Instantly: silence. "A simple misunderstanding. You may all return to your post, thank you"

After the shuffling sounds of movement from below die down, attention is uncomfortably back to me.

If my legs would stop shaking, I might laugh at Adonis' baffled expression. A maid and the High King of first name basis. It's unnerving at minimum, and scandalous if one thought about the only logical explanation on why we might be better acquainted. I hope the color in my cheeks don't reflect my thinking of… that.

It wasn't that uncommon for the powerful to use the less so to fulfill carnal desires. But even in that case, maids still referred to their superiors by title, especially in the case of the High King. But he had just greeted me in the way I'd seen him greet his brother. As an equal.

Adonis, I'm sure, heard of the king sending a search party and helping my cause. But that still doesn't qualify our familiarity.

Then there's Peter's expression. One I can't name as he takes me in.

Adonis must feel the need to explain himself in the silence, so he starts with, "The fault is mine, Your Highness. And reprimand should be mine alone. She too sought peace of mind and mend for lack of slumber."

Oh. _Oh._

This too was a scandalous set up. What with a maid being alone in a turret with a guard. A guard that is bonded and has a son, nonetheless. And me with only a coat over my nightgown. I should hope he knew me better than to make that assumption, but I wouldn't blame him if he did. People can be predictably disappointing.

Peter finally withdrew his gaze from me, addressing Adonis in a quiet, steady voice. "I compliment your character, but no one here is at risk of reprimand. Might I ask you leave us to a private audience, however? I have matters to discuss with Lady _."

Adonis nods, "Of course. Will the base of the turret afford you enough privacy? I should like to ensure the station remains guarded, if it pleases you."

"Granted, sir. Thank you."

Oh, good. Another private audience. What's another round of rumors at this point?

My countenance must have been transparent with that thought, as after once glance at me, Peter quickly added as Adonis descended down, "Also, speak of this to no one."

Adonis continued down after a bow and a "Yes, your Majesty."

Then his eyes are back on me. "I should like to think you're not going to make a habit of hiding from me." His tone is playful, but I know enough to sense when there is truth hidden in humor. When there's a dose of hurt right under the surface of words.

I decide to make a calculated dive head first into vulnerability.

"Even if I did hope to make that a habit, I'm afraid my dreams seek to undermine by determination by ensuring exposure."

His eyes sharpen with that, but he's still tentative when he asks, "Do I even need to ask if you had the same dream I did?"

I shake my head.

"The air raid?"

I tilt my head. "Is that what you call the explosions?"

He nods, seemingly content with my confirmation that we did in fact share the dream.

The air grows heavy. There's the rest of the dream that neither of us seem keen to be the first to bring up.

Heaviness seems to swallow him as he speaks, "War, whatever the world, whatever the weapons, still creates chaos for the innocent and uninvolved." He leans back over the edge of the turret, watching below.

I mirror him and nod, quiet for a moment, pulling my coat tighter as a burst of wind blows across the tower.

"Were you?" I inquire, looking sideways to him.

He turns to me. "Was I what?"

"Innocent and uninvolved?"

Just an incline of his head in affirmation before again looking to the sea. "It unsettled me. To be unable to help or fight in any way. But I'm not sure it affords me any more peace to be immensely involved. There have been many graves dug in result of battles I lead."

"No peace comes without cost."

"Yes, but I don't think I'll ever be used to putting a price to a soul for the sake of the greater vision of peace. Isn't even just one invaluable? Does the end truly justify the means? I guarantee it hasn't to many widows I've brought a body to. No sincere words suffice to fill that void. Is it worth it to them? I think of if it were to be one of my siblings..." he trails off, jaw ticks. "No amount of peace would qualify that cost to me."

I ponder his words before my response. "It wouldn't to me either." He must have been holding his breath, because it comes out in a long sigh.

But there's more that needs to be said. "I think your humanity and the battle of morality and balance should never be lost on you. It qualifies you for your own position more than perhaps any other trait."

The hopefulness that fills his eyes when he looks back to me nearly sends me stumbling. "Thank you," he says, hushed and heartfelt.

I'm silent a moment in reverence before filling it with what could be considered blasphemy. "I suppose it's helpful to know this maid, in her professional opinion, believes the High King qualified for his own job."

He laughs wholeheartedly. I join him.

"More validating than you know." He says with sincerity as the laugh dies down.

I attempt to slow the beat of my heart by changing the subject. "Your brother was a child in the dream, but you weren't."

He smiles, blue eyes filling with brightness. "Yes. They're always younger in my dreams. I'm not sure why."

I return the smile. "You seem to be quite fond of them."

He chuckles. "What gave that away?"

"You can tell just by someone's manner. Fondness is quite easy to pick up on."

He glances at me. Deliberate. Gentle. "Is it?"

My feet are suddenly very interesting subject matter to stare at. This wasn't helping my heartbeat at all.

"So you have taken to walking the wall to cure insomnia?" I ask, cringing, again trying to move on. _Could I have picked a more boring question?_

"You seem to have had the idea before me."

"Not quite walking, Adonis has been kind enough to allow me to sit and clear my head."

"If he gives you any trouble for what he witnessed tonight, say the word, and I'll ensure it doesn't happen again."

"Thank you, but he's of character. I'm sure it won't be necessary." I think for a moment, then add, "And it was my fault. For addressing you informally with an audience. I'm sorry."

I catch the smirk forming on his lips. "I'm not."

I can't do anything but stare, aghast. I thought it would be different when others were present. Surely he didn't want anyone else to see our casual interaction. "Pardon?"

"I make no apologies. We have nothing to hide. I don't care what conclusions people come to."

I inhale. Then let it out. "Might I suggest that is because no one would dare say anything to your face about it?"

He responds in half amusement. "I can say with confidence there are three people who absolutely will."

"And I suppose they entitle you a whore for it?" I speak, a little impatiently.

He bows his head in understanding. "I'm aware this has a harsher impact on you than on me. I'm… learning to navigate that."

I listen, assessing.

He sighs. "I'll leave it to you then. How much you want private or not."

I raise an eyebrow. "And what if I'm to skip into the throne room tomorrow, calling you by your first name?"

His smile returns as he quips, "May I request you do it toward the afternoon? It's unfathomable how dull a throne room can be during that time of the day. I'd welcome the entertainment."

"That's quite a bit of power to put into my hands." I deadpan.

He all but gapes at me. "It hardly levels the proportions."

"I suppose so," I agree.

"Please…" he starts, then stops. Then tries again. "Understand this: I won't use my crown against you. I know the power is hardly fair here. Should you decide you don't want my company, please know no repercussions will come to you for that."

I can feel my forehead wrinkle with my confusion. "When am I to expect your company?"

He regards me, amused and tender. "I was hoping I could expect yours. For breakfast in the morning? I know you've already met Ed, but my sisters haven't had the same pleasure."

My mouth is open, I know. I should shut it, I know. I should respond, I also know. Instead, all I say is "Are you toying with me?"

He shakes his head with a boyish charm that immediately makes him seem younger. "It's a sincere invitation, milady."

I pause, regarding him. "May I ask you something rather frank?"

"And here I was thinking we couldn't get much more candid," he chuckles. "But yes."

"Were you coherent within that dream?"

He doesn't drop eye contact as he responds. "Yes." His cheek color only barely betrayed him as he glanced away then back.

"Were you?" he asks, low.

"I was," I all but squeak out, praying it comes off steadier than it sounds.

It's quiet for an insufferable three seconds.

"Then I suppose I should thank you for saving my life," he finally speaks, half smile playing across his features. I laugh, loudly.

"You can repay me by ensuring there is orange juice at breakfast." I mumble.

He shakes his head, smirk still present. "You are the most blessed anomaly."

He steps into the space between us, and I draw in a sharp breath. His hand is even warmer against my face in reality. He runs his knuckles under my jaw, and his thumb brushes my cheek as he tucks my hair behind my ear.

I cover his hand with mine, and he instantly freezes, silently seeming to realize the breaking of a boundary. I stoke the back of his hand with my own, affirming him.

"I'll see you in the morning then?" he inquires, tentative.

My eyes fall to my feet again, trying to conceal my expression. "You will."

"I assume any offer to walk you to your quarters will be declined?"

I grin, lifting my gaze back up to his. "You would be correct, sire."

"Good night, then, _."

I pause, contemplating my next words before deciding upon them. "Good night, Peter."

His eyes light up as he begins down the stairs, and I catch the beginnings of his smile to himself as he disappears.

There's a lot that can and likely will go wrong here, but all I can really think is that tonight, goodness has lost a hint of its menace.


	7. Chapter 7

My steps echo on the tile floors as I step through the corridors to the quarters private to their majesties. To Peter.

Breakfast, as I have recently come to know, was the one meal our sovereigns shared only with each other: a fact that didn't ease any nerves on my end.

I stop outside of the door to the veranda where I was told to go. Apparently, if the weather was pleasant, this is where the morning meal was held- How Mrs. Dolie kept track all these details, I'll never know.

I think back to her drowsy figure greeting me as I attempted to sneak into our shared quarters just as dawn was beginning to break.

"Should I be worried about you, deary?"

I startled as she spoke, then shuffled to stand in front of her as she lit the candle on the dresser. "No, ma'am."

She gave me a quick scan, pursing her lips, not unkindly. "The state of your hair implies you to have been outdoors."

It was a statement, but it's also a question. One I knew better than to dodge: there was an iron backbone to support all her amiable nature.

I took in a breath and squared my shoulders. "Yes. I just needed to…" I made an abandoned gesture with my hand. "...clear my mind."

Her demeanor released, her shoulders descending a solid two inches as she sighed. "Your sleep troubled again, love?"

I nodded my head.

"Is that all you have to say about it?"

"If that's alright, yes."

"Oh, it'll do," she was speechless for a moment as she scooted herself off her bed and onto her feet. "Morning is already here. Might as well get dressed and get an early start on breakfast."

I stripped my own coat and nightdress, opening my drawer of the dresser to find a chemise. Then a thought hit me.

"On a completely unrelated note: what does one wear to attend breakfast with their majesties?"

Mrs. Dolie whipped around to me, her own chemise only half way up her body, mouth gaping. I can't help the laugh that tore from me at the image of her.

"All of them?" she asked, jaw still slack.

"Why wouldn't it be all of them?" I asked, eyes narrowing in question.

She grinned as much with her eyes as she did with her lips. "I imagine it was a specific one of their highnesses who asked you, hm? Perhaps I'll suggest the High King?"

My hands flew to my face as I made an inhuman squeal, any last hope of me attaining my ideal mature, stoic self escaped out the window.

A robust laugh erupted from Mrs. Dolie, "So you weren't alone, then?" It was posed as a question, but it was, in fact, a statement. I needn't answer. But I did feel the need to explain myself.

"It's not what it looks…" I started, but was quickly interrupted.

"Isn't it? It looks to me like the High King wants a lass to meet his family. And in that vein of things, your blue dress will do just fine."

My mouth opened and shut, coming up empty for any retort, reaching for familiar blue fabric underneath all my other things. It didn't get much wear.

"Take ease, my sweet. If he had dubious intent, he'd be whisking you away to his private chambers at night, not cordially inviting you to dine with his siblings and him in the morning hour."

I stopped short, dropping my dress back into the drawer. That most certainly did not help me take any ease. She was right, of course. But it immediately brought to mind the snippets of gossip I'd overheard, half listening as I did my tasks. The High King had his share of overnight guests, if the stories ran correct, which I never knew if they did. And if they were true...well, I didn't know how to feel about it all. Or if I had any right to feel anything on the matter.

But I hadn't heard any rumors of breakfast guests. What does that make me? I try my best to squash the growing dread in my abdomen.

Now, as I stand outside the entrance to the veranda, I see Peter and King Edmund already seated at the table, talking to each other, but I can't quite hear what they're saying.

Should I enter, or do I wait? Where do I sit at the table?

I take deep breaths to ease off my anxiousness.

"They won't bite, you know," came a lively voice from behind me.

As I whip around, hand on my chest, Queen Lucy smiles brightly, then cocks her head to the side, recalling something. "Except Edmund, I suppose. But he only did that once when we were very little. Just don't steal his food, and you'll be safe."

I remember to drop into a curtsy as a small smile lifts a side of my mouth. "I will resist the temptation, Your Majesty."

She giggles, then drops into a curtsy of her own. _One of my country's queens, curtsying to me._

The confusion must show on my face, because she makes a flippant gesture with her hand and explains, "I rarely get to curtsy to anyone, and It's a shame, because I think it's a rather lovely way to greet."

My laugh is a combination of amused and astonished. I begin to understand Peter's deep sentiment toward his younger siblings.

I look up as I hear footsteps and the swish of fabric scraping the floor, and I'm greeted by the sight of Queen Susan who greets me with kind eyes as she says, "Good morning, it's nice to finally meet you. Peter has speaks of you incessantly these days."

I try to not let my surprise show as I again curtsy my greeting, but I can't help the incline of my head. As I rise, I open my mouth to attempt some response, ( _what response is there to that?_ ) I'm saved by the interruption of two men behind me.

After the proper yet slightly amused salutation from King Edmund, smiling like he knows something I don't, I turn to Peter, whose eyes are already on me, filled with a hopeful affection that kicks me off guard more than any other oddity of the morning's progressions.

 _Would I ever get used to that?_

 _Bold of me to assume I'd get the chance to. Nothing here is promised._

As we all take our seats at the round table, I notice the two glasses of orange juice at my place. I glance sideways to Peter and look pointedly to the dual glasses and back to him, and I'm rewarded with a playful wink.

Across the table, Edmund snorts before he takes a long sip of his tea.

"So, Peter's told us about you, but only a little. Would you tell us about yourself?" Susan inquires between bites of her eggs.

I stiffen a little, searching for a reply, scooting my fork across my plate, feigning intense concentration on stabbing my first bite of food.

What was there to say? I don't remember my parents or any family, all I have to remember of my upbringing was that man, and that was a quick way to make a lighthearted morning dark.

"There's not much to say, I suppose," I shrug as my fork finally found my lips, swallowing before adding, "Unless you're interested in hearing my technique on dusting bookshelves."

"Oh!" Lucy exclaims around a mouth of food before blushing, noticing her manners, and quickly chewing before adding, "That was my job back in England. Mum always had me dust everything I could reach… which wasn't much at the time."

Her laugh brings a smile to my mouth, and a quick glance around the table confirms my suspicions about her attitude being contagious.

"Yes, I remember. Dad built you a tiny step so you could even reach the fireplace mantle," Susan speaks with a smile in her voice. "My chore was making the beds and helping Mum with cooking."

"Mine was washing the clothes. Ed's was the dishes," Peter adds, tone on the precipice between speaking and laughing. "Which he hated."

"Don't remind me," Edmund tries to murmur grumpily, but his lip quirks up all the same.

Well, I didn't expect that. The thought of my country's leaders being children and given household tasks wasn't an image that occurred to me before, but now that it had, I was sure it was a thought that would visit me again, warming me when I needed it.

"And I might add that Peter was no good at doing the clothes, as he frequently ruined someone's good dresses with his inability to separate the reds out from the whites," Susan points out, looking at me, not at Peter, who instantly drops his fork to put his hands up in defense. The clatter of the silver mixes with Lucy's and Edmund's stifled sounds of amusement.

"How was I to know? It's not as if I owned any bright red dresses!" Peter tries to sound serious as he's put on trial, but the chuckle in his undertone wins out in the end.

Edmund adds, "No you didn't, but I had a number of light pink undershirts after that, thanks to you. Which Mum made me keep because we couldn't afford new ones!" The crescendo of his annoyance throughout his statement send the whole table into snickers.

Couldn't afford new clothing? I put away that detail in my mind to ponder later.

The rest of the meal goes by in what feels like minutes, eventually everyone reluctantly goes about their tasks for the day.

Peter lingers behind, strolling over to me. "They like you. A lot."

"You sure? How do you know?"

"I know them. And I am sure." He grasps my hand reassuringly for just a moment, and my skin lights up in reply.

"Can I see you later today?"

I sigh, frustrated. "I wish I could, but I've been neglecting my turn with the washing for some time now. I can only use so many excuses to get out of it."

He stares at me for an moment. "And… I suppose no pardon of mine could get you out of it?"

I smile. "It would, but it won't save me from the wrath of the dwarf who has had to keep taking my shift."

One glance at his face tells me further reassurance is still needed.

"I really would rather be with you, but I have duties as well, and even though they don't equal to the weightiness of yours, I still take pride in doing my part and being faithful to be relied upon."

He nods, understanding resting on his features, and his grin has a pride to it that I can't find the context for. "It's an honorable stance to have. Would it suit you then if I visited you? If I took care to be subtle?"

I all but cackle. "If I may be so bold, I will observe that Your Highness doesn't possess the art of subtlety…."

"Hey!"

I can't keep my face straight at his mock-offended interjection. "...however, I'd welcome your company all the same."

I turn then, throwing a last glance over my shoulder. "You can find me in the staff courtyard."

The courtyard used for the washing strategically straddles a stream. It gives the space a certain tranquility: the bouncing and splashing of the water over the stones. I almost feel guilty for contaminating the clear waters with my soap as I scrub a garment across a rock before the hinges of the small door leading back inside announce the arrival of a visitor.

He manages to look both tremendously out of place and perfectly fitting to his surroundings. The gold that adorns his head catches the light on the water and reflects it back in such a manner that deems his full formal title all-too appropriate.

Yet it's when the greenery of the plants growing wildly throughout the space resemble the same teeming energy of his newly carefree air that a king somehow looks at place among the dirty clothes.

I set the soap down on a rock far enough from the stream to not be swept away, dry my hands on my apron, and then awkwardly try to find some other occupation for my hands after giving him a short wave.

At least I knew what to do when I was still to curtsey before him.

His steps are their usual confident, but they lack any regality. Instead, he seems to have picked up a certain youthfulness, which almost makes me laugh aloud as I take his solid stature and stubble across his jaw which betray his true age.

When a certain mischief flashes in his eyes, I notice I've been staring and quickly attempt to recover. I nod to his head as he sits on the nearest boulder to me, "I feel slightly underdressed."

"What? Oh…" he swipes a hand over his head, nonchalantly ridding himself of the crown and placing it on the rock next to my soap. _Is sacrilege always so downright amusing as it is troubling?_

His neck is tinged red as he starts to explain, "Sorry, I forgot to take it off...I was in a hurry to…" he trails off, hand gesturing abandonly at the air in front of him, hoping I'll take his meaning.

I blink at him, open mouthed, before I snap it shut, taking the soap and returning to my task. Looking sideways to address him, I feign a authoritative tone. "Well, we take our appointments very seriously around here, but I suppose I'll let it slip this time." I finish with a smile, which he eagerly returns as he rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.

He's forsaken the doublet he wore this morning, I notice. And appreciate. Then reprimand myself for the thought as my cheeks burn.

Then it hits me _why_ he's rolled up his sleeves. He seems to notice my revelation moment, as he takes the cloth I just finished scrubbing and dips it upstream, sloshing it around in the water. "It makes it faster if someone rinses while the other washes," he says, matter-of-fact with a shrug.

My bewilderment takes a fine twenty seconds to wear off. _Today, the High King of Narnia was to help this maid wash clothes crouched over a stream with his crown on a rock._ My mouth opens and shuts a few times in search of a retort before finding one with a smirk. "Well, in that case, let me make ensure all the red-dyed ones are a safe distance from the rest."

He slops the garment down dramatically, sending splashes all around. "That wasn't that many times! I did eventually figure it out, you know!" He wipes the water he splashed on his own face as his chest's rhythm reveals his amusement.

I laugh so much I squeeze the soap too hard, sending it tumbling downstream. Reaching frantically, I launch both arms into the stream in attempt to retrieve it, soaking myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement, an arm moving with purpose. My mind sings with a burst of terror as my body crumples in on itself, one arm out in feeble defense and eyes tightly shut.

Time stands still.

Everything goes still.

Except the water. The water rushes past me, drowning my skirts and filling my ears with it's flood.

The stream doesn't whisper my name, though.

 _Peter._

My eyes snap open as I come back to myself and instantly meet his. Shame demands I glance away, so I do.

"I'm sorry…" we both say on top of each other, then I look up, disbelieving, and find his expression matches my own.

What do I say? What does anyone say?

I step out of the stream, gracelessly slipping on both slippery rock and my clothes elongated by the weight of water.

He's still crouched over, on his knees, unmoving, as I stand out of reach with my back to him.

I've removed my apron and I've started wringing out my dress when his voice reaches out, raw and weighted. "_, I'd never...please know I'd never…"

"I know," I interrupt, short. Realizing how harsh it sounded, I soften, trying for an explanation. "It's just…" I swallow down the dryness in my throat and force myself to turn around. "It's not you," is all I can get out once I see the gentle recognition on his face.

It's quiet again, so I return to squeezing my skirts. He stands, slowly.

"My left shoulder is my downfall. It dislocates easily ever since I injured it."

I look up, confused. He continues.

"That's my weakness. Not my only, but my most prominent. Every opponent has them if you look hard enough. I can teach you… if you'd like, how to find them on others. How to defend yourself, should the need arise."

I stand still as his words compute.

"I...now?"

"If you want. Although it works better with dry clothes."

My lip quirks up, despite my still shaking hands, fueled by adrenaline.

"Can I think on it?" And oh, did I have things to think on. He's sharing his battle vulnerabilities with me now. Surely that has to be a liability to give that information.

He nods, solemnly. "Of course, whatever you need."

"At the moment, I'd like to sit, if that's alright?" I didn't wait for confirmation as I seated myself back down on the courtyard floor.

He returns to his knees, first sending a concerned glimpse my way, before picking up another piece of clothing and breaking off a new piece of soap.

"Peter, don't, I can do it later."

"You're in no condition to do anything but rest at the moment," he says, almost parental in tone.

I attempt not to bristle as I stand. "I'm fine."

He shakes his head. "No, you're really not."

My reply is terse, no longer trying to not be annoyed. "I'll say what I am, thank you very much."

He angles his shoulders back to me and has the decency to look guilty before taking a deep sigh.

"_, I've seen your eyes before. After battles. And between them."

He closes his eyes, but doesn't stop, even as his throat bobs. "Aslan, I've felt them in myself." A pause. Swallow. "Soldiers. Warriors. I send them on mandatory leave, even if for a day, if it can at all be afforded at the time. Because I know too: how exhausting it is to fight demons you can't see and then pick up a sword the next day. Or just go about life like it didn't happen." Tears fall down his cheeks, even as his wrecked voice continues, and I feel liquid emotion on my own face. I fall to my knees next to him.

"And I just remember wishing that someone would let me stop while the world keeps going on. So while I won't demand you do anything, I'm pleading with you, let me do this. _, please…."

"Yes." I barely recognize my own voice from the rustiness.

The indecency of my own action didn't even occur to me until much later as I lift my hand to his face, wiping his tears and grazing his jaw with my thumb. He leans into the touch, covering my hand with his, and it decides it for me. I wrap my arms around his neck, tucking my head into his shoulder as my hand soothes the hair at the nape of his neck.

He arms encase me, and only then do I turn my head to murmur in his ear, "Thank you." ****


	8. Chapter 8

A nobleman from some island comes to visit in the following days, and I don't see Peter for a week and a half. Not that I'm counting.

Not that I'm necessarily saddened by it either. My brain is still shaken to the bone by a number of things, and the time to think is much needed.

With the castle's visitors to talk about, the talk around me dies down, and I'm able to return to the maid's quarters, despite Mrs. Dolie's insistence that I hadn't overstayed my welcome.

The maids that I'm not particularly close to give me side glances laced with poison, and the ones I did have an acquaintance with give me a half forced smile at any eye contact. Even if they didn't mind my current... affiliation… with the High King, they likely don't want the affliction sure to come their way with any association with me.

It's my own fault, really. I've been a quiet, aloof lass long before they had a reason to have distaste for me.

Just as well: I have a book to read. I sit in the hallway outside the quarters, under a torch so I can see. Then I devour the pages until my eyelids begin to droop before reluctantly forcing myself to my bunk.

Midweek, I get to take another trip into town, this time accompanied by Adonis. I smile at the thought of Peter taking my comfort level with the centaur into account when assigning the guard.

The buoyant conversation to and from the market is nearly as enjoyable as the experience itself. Although, having a royal guard at your side did draw its attentions. But the drawbacks aren't nearly as bad as the niceness of having to not carry all the produce alone.

It's a pleasant rhythm: wake up, clean, perhaps talk to Mrs. Dolie or Adonis, read, sleep. Even my dreams fall into a lovely, blank pattern.

Until they don't. I blame the book for it really, knights and their damn passionate love and carnal tales.

It's innocent enough to start. I'm back on the turret, Peter with me, but instead of just brushing my cheek with his hand, his mouth catches mine.

I bolt upright in my bed, and I can't even muster an apology in reply to the annoyed whine from the bunk beside mine. I row my mind back and forth through the dream, and can only settle myself back down when I know it lacked that abnormal quality that meant I shared it.

My cleaning in the morning is vigorous and over-focused, but, thankfully, no one says anything, not even Mrs. Dolie, despite her aware gaze.

That night, I forego the book, hoping it helps.

Instead, I have the same dream, except this time, my hands are in his hair, and his hands are on my back, tracing and burning. The sensation of his tongue meeting my lip finally shoots me toward consciousness.

I'm unable to fall back asleep, even after assuring myself this one too was my dream alone.

I tripped three times the next day, and got caught staring off into space five times.

I do read my book the following night, with no intention of going to sleep. But I must at some point fade off, because the dream visits even in face of my efforts.

 _I'm not in the tower this time, but I'm in what I recognize as the High King's chambers. I don't clean it, but I have been in to fill a vase once or take the curtains to wash, I'm not sure which, but it's enough to identify where I am. I'm wearing my sleep shift, white and borderline transparent, and I haven't even time to fluster at my own indecency before looking up to find Peter only in loose sleep breeches._

 _I look everywhere but his exposed chest, finally descending my line of sight to the design of the duvet behind him. I can feel his eyes on me, and despite the simmer it holds, it doesn't feel profane. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I search his face for meaning, but I can't label any of the microexpressions dancing across his features._

 _ **Handsome features**_ _, my useless mind offers._

 _Then, before my mind can offer anything else, I'm stepping towards him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kissing him without restraint. He hums something incomprehensible against my mouth and then he's lifting me by the back of my legs, which I wrap around his waist the first moment I can. I'm dazed and giddy and something much much worse, but whatever the later is, it has momentum, and I'm not even trying to stop it as I move my hips down against his waist._

 _I feel before I see his eyes snap open, and I blink as that awful sensation of becoming aware during a dream rushes over me._

 _What in the…_

 _The sinking in my stomach advances as I hear him ask, tentatively, "_ are you actually here?"_

 _I just stare as he lowers me down, places a finger under my chin, tilting my eyes up as he searches them for something._

 _And it hits me._

 _Aslan help me…I am sharing this dream._

I've never been so thankful for kitchen duty. Mrs. Dolie's conversation is just about the sole thing that can get my mind off a night like that.

If she can tell I'm distracted, she keeps it to herself.

I'm chopping celery while she adds a plethora of spices to a large pot without measuring them, not even looking at her own hands as she tells me how one of the other maids burnt a pie yesterday.

She's smiling, even though she is obviously still quite grieved over her charred pie. I feel the beginnings of my own smile when the screech of iron startles the knife down, and I slice one of my knuckles.

The clammerings beside me tell Mrs. Dolie isn't much better off. I'm sucking my knuckle between my lips before the second it takes me to turn around.

Mrs. Dolie and I exchange confused glances as we recognize at the same moment the sound came from the panty.

I'm reaching back behind me with my unhurt hand for the knife when the pantry door is pushed open and a cloud of white is unleashed.

I don't even have to wait for the white dust to settle before I recognize the stature of the man before us.

"Peter?" I ask toward the cloud, knife still in hand.

There's coughing, and when I can finally see him, he's dusting a hand through his hair, knocking another smaller cloud into being. His clothes are coated in white powder too.

"I think," he covers his mouth for another cough, "that perhaps the passage entrance to the pantry hasn't been in use for some time."

Mrs. Dolie has dropped into a curtsey, and I debate on if I'm to curtsey as well, and I keep going back and forth on it, so I just end up in an awkward ankle cross with my finger back in my mouth.

 _Oh, gods, I am not ready to see him, not after last night. And he's here, and so very real and it's far too much._

"Your Majesty," Mrs. Dolie half rises from her curtsey, "It hasn't been used in years indeed, to which point I'm afraid we've placed shelving around it. It's where we keep the flour nowadays."

She's honoring, but her tone of voice is the same as ever, even in the presence of one of our sovereigns, and I can't help but respect her more for it.

Peter's chuckle forces my attention back to him, "Yes, I've certainly found the flour."

He looks at me for a second past a comfortable glance, then back to Mrs. Dolie, "I apologize for the mess, if you'll point me in the direction of your broom…"

She makes a noise somewhere between disbelief and disgust. "If it pleases your majesty, the maids are quite capable…"

"It's my mess really," he interrupts, moving towards us.

I finally set my knife down. He notices the movement, and the side of his lip quirks up, then it's gone.

"Really, your majesty, while your offer is appreciated, I actually have the perfect maid for the job. I have a charred pie that demands revenge."

He looks baffled, and turns to me for reasoning. I just shake my head, smiling.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your company this afternoon?" I ask, wiping my hands on my apron.

"I was…" he starts, then concern twists his face as his eyes follow my hands. I look down to see my apron splotched with red. "Are you bleeding, _?"

"Heavens! Yes she is!" Mrs. Dolie exclaims, grabbing a dish towel from the nearest table, wrapping my entire hand.

I laugh and hiss at the pain in the same moment, creating a strange, twisted noise. "It's just the finger, you know, not my whole hand."

"I'm relieved your tongue is unaffected," she bites back, looking up at me only briefly before starting to look for something.

"Just about everything is unaffected," I snort. "It's just a …"

I'm silenced by the hand on my elbow. I tense at first, but then relax at the cautious eyes of the hand's owner.

"Is this okay?" he asks quietly. I nod, even as my useless mind silently adds, " _more than_."

"Can I see it?" I must be still gathering my wits from my stupid, stupid mental running column because he adds, "your hand?"

I raise it, and he takes it, unwrapping the clumsily tied dish cloth, sending another bit of flour into a cloud as his sleeve contacts my wrist.

He addresses Mrs. Dolie over my shoulder after a glance at it, "You were correct in the need for it being covered, but not before it's washed. May I use your wash bowl?"

"Of course, your majesty." She indicates over to the corner. She's addressing him, but she's looking at me. To my face, then to where Peter carefully grasps my hand and leads me over to the wash bowl, then back at my face pointedly, looking herself as smug as anyone ever has.

I roll my eyes.

"You know, I really am fi.."

I swallow a yelp as Peter pours a pitcher of water over my knuckle.

"I know you are, but it still needs cleaning, and it honestly might need a stitch or two."

"You have a habit of being overprotective, sire."

He smiles as he runs his hand over mine, squeezing slightly. I sharply inhale at the pain, then almost make a similar sound at his hand's comforting stroke. His shoulder bumps mine.

"And you have a habit of being hurt, milady." I turn my face to him, and he's close, _so close_ at my side. I can feel his exhale on my neck, and he's positively magnetic, and I'm so pathetically caught in his pull…

Mrs. Dolie clears her throat, "I'd clear out, but, alas, the soup is still on the fire."

Peter laughs, although somewhat tight, still authentic, as he turns to address her. "My apologies, I need to get her to the healer anyway."

"The healer! Honestly, Peter!" I exclaim in exasperation.

He pivots back to me. "Yes, the healer. Stitches and soup aren't best made in the same room."

"I have to agree with his majesty on this one, deary," Mrs. Dolie pipes up.

"But…" I start to protest, but Mrs. Dolie starts literally pushing me toward the door to the passageway in the pantry.

Peter gives his thanks and farewell, and then we're off into the tunnel. It's dark, except for some torches up the way.

The tunnels aren't foreign to us maids. They're not only for protection in case of an attack, they also make for fantastic shortcuts and dubious visibility at the height of hosting guests.

Since this entrance has remained unused, there's no torchlight given nearby. Even still, it's not pitch black at least, and the ground is flat in these parts.

So my grip on his forearm is superfluous. Ridiculous.

I don't let go.

His voice pierces the dark as we walk. "I tried my hand at subtlety, using the passage and whatnot. Flour it seems, had plotted to thwart me."

"Ah, yes. If only it weren't for the nefarious flour, then subtlety would be yours to obtain," I say, trying to chase the playfulness of my voice with fabricated solemnity, failing mostly. "Although I might suggest that if subtlety is truly close to being possessed, then the use of passage tunnels needn't be necessary."

He endeavors to clear his throat of a laugh, which escapes anyway in the end. "Redhanded, milady."

"I appreciate the attempt nonetheless. Which brings me to… why were you trying to find me?"

We've gotten to where the torches are lit, and I can see his face much better now. I really could let go of his arm. Really should.

"Well, I know I've been occupied all week, and I mentioned perhaps trying sparring last..." he trails off, and I glance up at him, only catching glimpses of his demeanor as we kept passing torches. He seems to be considering something. Then decided upon it.

"We've been nothing except forthright toward each other, and I have no intent of stopping now. Or ever. I honestly just wanted to see you. How you were doing. And perhaps a question, which I can leave 'till later."

I'm momentarily lost over what to say, my heartbeat drowning out any coherent thought from forming. First, that he wants to see me, and second, what that question will likely be about. Hopefully not. I keep hoping I'm wrong about that dream not being mine alone.

Forthright. I can do that, at least. "I'm glad you did." I hope he can see the sincerity in my eyes in spite of the dim light. "And I'm actually a little relieved you haven't brought up the whole sparring thing. I…" I lick my bottom lip and the rest of my thought down as I consider for a moment, what level of vulnerability I want to reveal.

I catch another frame of his face, but it's just enough. There's a genuineness his presence radiates, and it inspires the same from me.

"I'm not ready yet, I think. Touching people and people touching me," I inhale, conjuring courage to finish. "It's formidable at best in most cases. But I'm learning. I just need smaller steps than that, I think."

"I should say that's more than understandable. Plus, I only mentioned it in hopes to increase your comfort, not fret you more than you already have been."

"Thank you," I say, quietly.

He nods, and we walk in silence for a few moments. We reach a door, and he opens it, indicating for me to go ahead.

I've barely a second to take in the room, stocked floor to ceiling on more than one wall with numerous jars full of colorful substances. There's a table in the middle, and many places of storage everywhere. A fireplace in the corner, a daybed near the window.

He speaks again. "Please, if I ever do anything that makes you nervous, don't hesitate to say."

"Thank you," I say again. I look away, over at some sort of plant hanging from the ceiling. _As if my nerves will ever be in order around him._ "You've been beyond respectful, and I'm grateful."

His mouth purses. "I don't feel I need gratitude for what equates to plain decency."

"My gratitude still stands, even so."

"Just please promise me, _, that you'll tell me?" He's adamant in a way that I know needs assurance.

"I will. Touch with you is… different." The moment I realize what just came out of my mouth, I look down at my feet again, opening my mouth to find something, _anything_ , to say that will mitigate what I just stupidly said aloud.

When I gather the grit to look him in the eye again, he looks struck. Not as much in that he's hurt as much surprised at the impact.

His throat bobs. "I….I want to say I'm honored, but it's not even close to the right word."

I can't think of anything else to say, meer words feeling empty in comparison to the momentousness of what I'd actually just admitted.

 _I trust you._

And he heard it.

A bird's chirp from outside the window calls me back to why I'm actually here.

"So, when is the healer joining us?"

His appearance turns sheepish. "Well, she should be making her rounds in one of the villages today. I'm set to meet with her tomorrow, as usual, but I'm confident I've done stitches enough to do it without her instruction."

He turns and starts opening a cabinet, gathering supplies, then plucks some type of dried plant off the string from which it hangs.

I try to put the situation together in my mind. "She teaches you?"

He half turns back to me, hands still busy with some type of thread. "Yes, because I asked her to. Medicine has always held an interest for me."

Huh. I hadn't foreseen that coming.

He seems to have gathered everything he needs, because he approaches me again. "I would wait for her, if I knew she would be back before dark, and this truly requires attention now," he waves in the direction of my hand.

"It's alright. Between you and me, I prefer it to be you anyway." I smile, hoping it reassures him. I don't doubt his capacity the way he seems to think I might. I wouldn't have done anything to the cut, so anything is an improvement on nothing.

He smiles back briefly before crushing the dried plant with a shaped stone. He combines it with some type of liquid until it forms a paste.

When he holds out his hand, obviously meaning for me to give him mine, I do without thought. But when the fingers on his other hand caress around my wrist before applying the paste, it brings to my attention just how intimate the setup is. And how much more he's going to need to touch me before this is over.

My thoughts flicker back to the moment at the sink, just mere minutes ago. How he leaned in, how I did too…

And I'm a selfish girl in some respects, not content just to be touched, apparently, because even as the one hand is wounded, the other itches to reach up and touch his hair, remembering the soft texture of it from the staff courtyard.

He's almost done smearing the paste when my hand twitches.

"Did it sting? This salve shouldn't."

"No, it's… not that."

"What is it, then?" He hasn't been entirely looking at me, half submerged in his task, but now he does, broad shoulders squared to me, both hands holding my injured one.

I blush, and an expression that's half boyish cockiness and half curiosity is sent my way in return.

I sigh, impatient with myself. "Just... " I just go for it, reaching my other hand up, fingers close to the shorter hair above his ear. "May I?" I ask, making sure this frivolous indulgence of mine is fine by him.

He nods. "Whatever you want."

I comb my hand through his hair, and he hums, deep in his throat as he leans into my hand. "I'm at your mercy, milady. Do as you please."

It's a heady, heady thing. The power he gives me.

What an interesting commodity he makes of power. What I've known of power is the abuse thereof. It becomes a completely different substance when it lays itself down willingly.

His eyes close when I reach the nape of his neck, dragging my fingernails. A thought plants in my mind, and my brazzenness hasn't wavered, so I press my lips to his jaw, even as my hand shakes at his neck. I feel the muscle under my lip clench before he pulls back a little.

I'm worried I've misread things before he explains with a scratchy voice, "If I'm going to have enough concentration to stitch your hand, I can't have you continuing that now."

He pets at my cheek, swiping his thumb across my bottom lip. "And maybe then you'll grant me permission to reciprocate?"

I can't tell if the swoop in my stomach is fear or anticipation. Or both. "Please," I answer still, meaning it with every bone in my body.

"Then let me finish my task, milady." His smile is teasing, even as his hands busy themselves again after we're both seated at the table.

The paste he made must have some type of numbing quality, as the poking of the needle isn't nearly as bad as I brace myself for it to be. Still, the stitch in the middle of the cut bites, and I gasp a little. He looks up to me briefly, muttering an apology, stroking my hand again in a soothing motion. "Nearly finished."

He's completely in a zone, and I distract myself with watching his fingers as they work.

Finally, he bandages the area. He seems a little lost in thought, still.

When he addresses me, he looks a little… guilty?

"_, I need to ask you something before anything else."

"Yes?"

"I…" he looks down, dropping his head and running a hand over his face. "Did we share a dream last night?" When he looks back up at me, his cheeks are a little red.

 _Oh._ I had almost forgotten about that. I'm sure my cheeks matched his too, now. How would he feel, knowing I dreamed of him that way?

I answer slowly. "I believe so."

"I believe I owe you an apology, then. Forgive me, I…"

"Pardon?" I cut him short.

"I'm trying to say I'm sorry, it was inappropriate, and you shouldn't be subjected to my mind running and setting you in situations like that. Especially in light of everything you've been though, and I can't in good conscience..."

"But it was my dream? You shouldn't be sorry."

It takes him a second to realize my words. "Really?"

"At least I thought it was. It makes sense, all the other dreams this week were similar." I realize what I just admitted, and I laugh even as my whole face burns.

He just stares for a second, looking like he's still trying to comprehend what I just said.

"Perhaps it's me who should be apologizing to you for my mind's lack of chastity, then, sire." I continue.

Some disbelieving sound leaves him before he protests. "But I've had similar dreams all week as well."

I should, perhaps, be scandalized. I should, maybe, be offended, even. I am, in fact, completely flattered instead.

"Huh," is all I can say, stupidly.

We meet each other's eyes at the same moment, then laugh a little at ourselves and the situation as a whole.

Peter speaks again. "I just hope that anything you did today wasn't a reflection of what you think I wanted because of that dream."

 _Aslan, how was this man even real?_

"Everything I did today was because I wanted to." My voice isn't loud, but what I say seems to ring in the small space between us, creating a potential that demanded some type of action.

"Do I still have your permission then?" His leg bounces a little, like he's channeling energy there in order to stay still.

I nod, and it's all it takes. He scoots off his chair and offers a hand to pull me up.

The next moment, the warmth of his lips are against my temple. I lace our fingers where our hands are still clasped, my breaths coming uneven.

 _How is this even real?_

I can feel him lick his lips before kissing down the side of my neck. When his tongue darts out a little, my hand clutches onto his arm haphazardly, ending in an awkward grab of his elbow.

His hand finds my waist, and he pulls back enough to see my gauge my reaction. "Is this still okay?"

His hair is still messy from when I touched it, and it makes me want to grab it again.

"Like I said, touch with you is different, Peter." I close the gap between us, pressing our lips together. The reaction is gentle to begin: The hand on my waist clutches a little tighter, and I indulge the itch to play with his hair again.

Then he deepens the kiss, tilting his head a little and breaking our clasped hands to cup my face. He darts his tongue out once, and I feel the impact all the way down my spine. I hear myself make some noise I'll care to be embarrassed about later, but when a similar noise echoes from his throat, I know I'm not alone.

Kissing Peter feels like the last moment of a fall and the following moment of catching yourself. There's the exhilaration and fear of the uncontrollable sensation of tumbling toward something, and then there's the swoop in your stomach as it all catches up, landing after it all on something solid and unshakable.

I pull back, breathless and unsure where to go next. He follows, slowing his breath as well, hands not leaving their place.

Then, without even thinking, he rests his forehead on mine.

And it happens.


End file.
